


Misery Loves Company

by socksfordobby



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: snape_potter, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows, Snarry-A-Thon Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:30:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socksfordobby/pseuds/socksfordobby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants to know why the world is so heartless, and thinks Severus has the answers. "Is this your way of telling me you want to die, or that you want to get into my pants?" Snarry-a-Thon12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery Loves Company

 

* * *

Severus blew his nose, to make it sound like he was actually doing something in the loo. He hated working with walk-ins. In all the years he had worked in this profession, he had built up something of a client list. People who wanted him to cut their hair, despite his own lack of style and personality. He wanted to cut  _their_ hair, the people who knew to expect professionalism and no chit-chat. He didn't enjoy cutting the hair of tourists off the street, who decided to get their hair cut on a whim. He didn't want to style the hair of the mother with three children, who were knocking over bottles on display.

"Severus, I know you're in there!" Rubbins, the owner of the salon, called through the door.

It was the only place to hide.

"Honestly, I don't know how you manage rent with all the time you spend hiding out in here!" Rubbins' voice carried a threat she never came through with. Severus was their best hairdresser; she would never fire him.

Reaching with his cane, Severus flushed the toilet.

"You've got a cut!" Rubbins rapped on the door. "Finish up in there, or—"

Severus sprayed the foul floral air freshener before emerging from the loo. "You are not going to want to go in there for awhile." He told the blonde woman.

Severus kept his station immaculate. Whereas other stylists kept their table cluttered with combs, and photos of their children, Severus' was spotless.

He reached to pull the hood off the head of the person who sat in the chair. "What will you have? Colour? Peroxide? Go to a pharmacy and buy a kit—it does the same thing."

The person pulled the hood over, further concealing the face. "I don't need a hair cut." A masculine voice emerged from the figure.

"We do not wax." Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "And if you want—"

"I'm here to talk," the man said, in a hushed voice.

The hairs on Severus' arms stood on end. He could feel creeping, like a spider, up his neck. He could feel an anxiety attack being triggered, but forced himself to appear calm.

_You are all right. It is just someone trying to rob the register. Or a person from the Wizarding government—they found you out, and want you to pay a fine._ Anything would be better than the alternative. He had lived in irrational fear of someone tracking him down for years; at least at The Cut Above, there were witnesses.

"What can I help you with?" Severus could not stop his hands from shaking as he pulled his comb from his pocket. His hands were always his giveaway.

"What are you going to do? Comb me to death? Kill me? I might be scared of that one, but I'm pretty sure I can outrun you." The man in the navy sweatshirt was slender. He did not seem to have legs as long or thick as Severus was expecting. His voice didn't have the same deepness Severus was expecting; Severus knew from experience that a baritone was not something you could easily disguise.

"Who are you?" he said, noticing that they were garnering the attention of Sally, Severus' neighbouring hairstylist.

The man pulled his hood away from his face, just enough to reveal his marred face. There was scarring from what looked like either a botched skin graft or a terrible burn, wrinkling over the right eye in place of an eyebrow. The skin was different shades of white and deep red; the entire right side of the face was evidence of what had to have been a horrible accident.

Green eyes met Severus' in the mirror.

Severus dropped his comb. His heart skipped a beat. He had spent the past fifteen years living in terror of a hefty, strong, hairy wizard with a cold heart, and a soul of stone. He hadn't considered, in all his fearful imaginings, that Potter might be the one to seek him out.

But of course he would be.

"Potter!" It came out in a growl.

Potter didn't seem fazed by that. "Can we go somewhere private?"

They were on 72nd street, in Manhattan. They were three blocks from the nearest major tourist attraction. They were next door to a chain coffee shop that no doubt had fifty people on its premises. Severus' apartment had thin walls, so that neighbours could hear his conversations. Many loos had hidden cameras, to watch for shoplifters. The reason Severus lived in Manhattan was because it was impossible to be truly isolated, absolutely alone. However, privacy was very easy to come by, simply because no one gave a shit about what you were doing or discussing.

"I get off at six." Three long hours until he got off. Twelve hours was far too long to spend in the confined salon, seven days a week, but it was not as if he had anywhere better to spend it.

Potter gave a slight nod. "Where do I meet you?"

_You cannot agree to meet him. He is not here for anything good. Agree to meet him somewhere, and don't. Befuddle him._ Severus twisted the handle in his cane as he used it to support his weight. He had used the wand only a handful of times since he had crafted the hideaway. He would be foolish to think he was a match against Harry Potter.

Severus forced himself to exhale deeply. "Seventy-second and Broadway... Wait there."

Rubbins came over, her heels clicking. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

Potter placed a handful of notes in Severus' tip jar. "No, miss; thank you."

He left after leaving twenty American dollars on the counter.

Rubbins peered at Severus. "What was that about?"

Severus pursed his lips and shrugged. "No idea."

* * *

Potter was waiting at the street corner, leaning up against the brick walls of the building. He spotted Severus almost right away, but didn't walk to meet him.

Cautiously, Severus approached him, his stomach churning. His leg was hurting more than it usually did this time of the day—he had forgotten to take something for it in all the worry.

Potter still had that blasted hood over his head, expertly concealing part of his burned face. "You came." His voice was barely audible over the noise of the city.

_He is here to talk you into coming back to England. Perhaps he wants something: information on Lily. He wants to talk to me about his mother. That is all it is._ With Potter, it was likely just something simple, such as that. The boy—man—wasn't one to dream up elaborate schemes.

"Is there anywhere we can talk?" Potter's eyes fixed on the wooden cane. "I guess you can't walk far."

Severus gripped the cane with white knuckles, and started forward. "I am a New Yorker. I can walk anywhere."

Severus clenched his teeth as spasms went up his leg with each step. He tried to conceal it as Potter started talking. He used his cane to press the WALK button.

"I guess you're wondering why I'm here."

That was exactly what Severus was wondering. "I was not going to ask."

"I need information." Potter nearly got hit by a cab, he walked so slowly.

Surprise, surprise. "About your mother."

Potter blinked. "No, why would you think that?"

Severus used his free hand to pull Potter aside, as two mothers passed by with strollers. "Information on what, Potter?"

At first, it didn't seem like Potter was going to answer. He seemed too captivated by a statue outside of Central Park's entrance. But finally, he did. "You."

Severus stopped. He leaned on his cane. He stared, without meaning to. Information on Severus? Why on earth would Potter want information on— _dear Merlin_. Panic filled Severus' chest, but he forced himself to breathe through it.

It seemed Potter felt the need to elaborate. "It's—It's just that—I haven't left my house much, lately. Ron's Head of the Auror Department, Hermione is changing laws, and is pregnant. Neville married Hannah, and the world is just so fucked up."

More Weasleys were procreating? "Sounds like it."

Potter's jaw tightened. "Muggles are rioting. Almost every day, wizards have a fire in Brixton, and it makes me too scared to leave my house."

With the Black fortune, Potter was wealthy. Why the hell did he live in Brixton?

"Any time I do leave, people point and stare, and reporters want to know what I think about the laws being placed on wizards, restricting them from everything from owning houses to having children to buying broccoli. And lately, every time I'm sitting at home, doing nothing because everyone I have has someone else, I end up thinking about you." Potter's eyes met Severus'. "I kind of just got it into my head, that if I could just talk to you, I would know why everything seems so backwards, and why everyone seems so—"

It had been worth listening to at first, but Potter had begun whining like a child. "Take off that god damned hood, Potter." Severus snapped, continuing his stride. "You look like a thug. No one in the city is going to be offering second glances, not because you're Harry Potter, not because your face looks like it has met a soldering iron."

Hurt crossed Potter's face only briefly, but he did lower the hood. At only thirty-odd years old, the thick, wild hair was already beginning to thin slightly; it didn't stop Severus from wanting to attack it with a comb.

They passed a group of mourners at Strawberry Fields, and began walking down one of the winding paths. Potter was quiet, for once, which gave Severus a moment to think.

"Information?" He stopped to rest his leg, but gave no indication that it was why he stopped. Any weakness got you killed, Severus learned long ago. "On why all of Britain is as it is? I could give you a long explanation about how the Muggles are blaming the Wizards for what happened in the 1990s, but you already know that. The problem is, Potter, is that the world is heartless. Fucking heartless. The sooner you learn that, the better."

Severus continued walking, and fully intended leaving Potter behind him, but Potter caught up with him. "I don't believe that."

"If you are here to argue with me, then what good is the information I can dispense?" That had been one of the reasons Severus had hated teaching. There was nothing worse than being told you were wrong by the person you were instructing.

Potter had the decency to hang his head. "I'm sorry. I meant information about you, specifically. I saw you in the shack, and then the Aurors took you to Azkaban, then you got released, and went all AWOL."

"Ah, yes. That is an excellent example of the heartlessness of our world. Unfortunately, it isn't the source, so whether you know the information or not, you will not be able to change it."

"You don't know that."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Have you a big blue box?"

"Huh? What?" Potter cocked his head.

"Disgrace to the crown, you are. I am not inclined to rehash my past, Potter, just so you can feel better about your reality."

Potter sat down on a peeling green bench outside the Delacorte theatre. "Good, because that's not why I want your story rehashed."

Severus gratefully took a seat on the opposite side of the bench. A group of tourists passed, taking pictures of the statue of Romeo and Juliet, and of the vendor selling Belgium waffles.

"I am not asking you to clear my conscience, or make me feel better about the fact that the powers that be on Downing Street are acting disturbingly like Germany's government did one hundred years ago." Potter rubbed his forehead, where the famous scar was scarcely visible, covered by even more scar tissue.

"I just watch people, and I think they've all gone somewhere or done something. Except us, really."

That was an insult Severus wouldn't take sitting down. That said, his leg really hurt; he tried to discreetly swallow the small vial of potion. "I am not sure how you managed to find me, but I have most certainly gone 'somewhere.'"

"Yeah, 3,000 miles away. You were almost impossible to track down legally, or by tracking your magical signature. You've only used your wand seventeen times since 1999."

"I felt the need to start the millennium fresh." The truth was that Severus hated what magic had done to people's lives. He hated how it had caused such an argument, a fight, a war. He refused to partake in something that could create something that evil. He refused to take part in such a war again.

And it wasn't possible to hide when using magic. He had to make a choice between hiding from everyone, and magic. It hadn't been difficult.

Potter sighed. "It's not just a dumb curiosity, Professor. It's—"

"—Severus."

"Oh. Um, okay. Severus, it's not just curiosity. I've thought long and hard about this. It took forever for me to get the guts to track you down."

"How did you?" Severus demanded. He had come to rather like the city; it would be a shame to have to move to Tucson just because Potter was able to find him.

"It wasn't easy. Ginny works for the  _Prophet_ though, and sent me in the right directions, talking to the right people. There was only one Severus Prince in the States—let's just say I took a gamble."

He would have to change his name to something completely unobvious. No one would suspect him if he changed his surname to Johnson, or to Smith.

Potter raked his hands through his hair. "Let's make a deal: you tell me everything, and I make sure your records are sealed up so tightly, Merlin himself couldn't figure out where you are."

"They already are," Severus pointed out. "Merlin is dead."

A chuckle escaped Potter. "Fine then. I'll see that they are sealed, anyway. What else do you want in return from me?"

Severus was a clever man. He worked twelve hours a day, seven days a week. On his salary, he could afford a studio in midtown without roommates. He could afford groceries and an unlimited monthly MetroCard. It did not mean money wasn't tight, however. He had accepted a date or two with handsome clients on occasion, just to get a free dinner that was not pasta.

Having been raised the way he was, and as a Slytherin, he had a special sense of self-preservation. He would do anything just to survive. That had already been tested to the very limit. Along with that, however, was a rule: never give without receiving. That wasn't a sexual euphemism. It was very practical advice.

Severus could not just give Potter all his information, he could not give him the facts, without getting something in return.

"How about fries?"

"Fries?" Potter's forehead furrowed.

Severus nodded his head towards a vendor down the pavement. "You buy some fries, then we talk."

It wasn't until Potter saw the food that the realisation dawned. "They are chips! Chips—who calls  _these_ fries? Christ help us; you've gone native."

* * *

"I have spent a lot of time wondering where I went wrong," Severus finally began once they settled on one of the hard blue subway seats, stomachs full of greasy potato wedges. "I finally decided that it was Nagini."

"That you were almost killed?"

"No. That I was almost killed  _by_ Nagini." The reason Severus had chosen New York City was that there were so many people there that no one cared what you were talking about. Their car was full of businessmen and tourists, and not one took any interest in their conversation.

"You thought you were going to die?"

"I was certain," Severus said. "Why do you think I had that vial on me? In the event that I died, if an Order member was nearby, I wanted my name cleared. I wanted to give my memories away."

"But then why not pour them into the vial beforehand?"

Severus resisted the urge to snap at him. "What if the Dark Lord had found it? Lucius Malfoy?"

Potter shuddered. "He's dead, you know. Malfoy Manor blew up. Jury's out on whether it was a hate crime or suicide."

"I hadn't heard. I cannot say that I am sorry, however." Severus continued with his story. "I had planned on being killed, but not by Nagini. I hadn't even considered it. The Killing Curse was the usual method. The Lestranges had their own perversions, but I wore armour." He didn't offer details, and was glad that Potter didn't inquire further.

"The papers said that you didn't die because you had anti-venin," Potter said.

Severus scoffed. "If that really worked, do you not think there would be vaccinations for such a thing?"

"I didn't think it was true. Otherwise you wouldn't have given me of all people your memories. You would have taken your chances."

"You are right; I would have. The reason I did not die is because snakes have a limited amount of venom to use during any period of time. She had already bitten at least three other victims, by my count. She did not have enough venom to kill me quickly. I would have lain there for days, before dying."

Severus continued, "Unfortunately, incompetent as they are, the Aurors found me by the next morning."

Potter stood to offer an elderly woman his seat, but she took one look at Severus and didn't sit. Awkwardly, he returned to his seat. "They aren't incompetent any more. Ron's got them in tip-top shape. The programme is renowned, now. Other countries are modeling their justice systems around ours."

"With the way Great Britain sounds right now, I'm not sure that is wise," Severus remarked. "In 1998, the Ministry had fallen, and there was little authority over anyone. The Aurors in particular were very disorganised. They put me into a stasis, and treated me. I am not sure why—that was their mistake." In the fifteen years since then, Severus had come to determine that he would have rather died. Why had everyone gone out of their way to make that so complicated?

Two young kids got on the car at the 42nd street stop. Their trousers were hanging low, and they had wraps around their heads, concealing their baldness. The tattoos that littered their arms revealed that they were low on funds to pay for a proper tattoo artist, and did not think things through. Reading people was not an ability Severus had lost.

"Yo, get up." One of them turned to Severus and Potter.

Potter leapt to his feet, but Severus just leaned on his cane. "I'm crippled."

"Come on, Severus. Don't—"

Why was it that Potter was heralded as king of the world? He acted like a scared child when faced with a couple of teenagers. "We might look like easy targets for you two because of my leg, and his—well, he is just ugly. But stop and consider how we might have got this way." They would have never believed the truth; Severus was pretty sure it was the calm way he spoke that spooked the boys. "Move to another car. Go pick on a little old lady, someone closer to your level. Ah, Herald Square." He stood and moved out of the car with a group of others.

"What the fuck? Were you going to start a knife fight right there on the tube?" Sweat was on Potter's brow. He looked like he wanted to strangle someone; Severus couldn't imagine who.

Severus started for the lift. "That actually never happens. Knife fight on the train? Is that actually a regular occurrence over there, now?"

"Sometimes over in Clapham, somebody. So the Ministry cured you." Potter pushed the appropriate button before Severus could jab it with his cane.

A change of subject. What a brilliant idea. "To put me in Azkaban. The Dementors were gone, but wards and the fact that it's on the Atlantic Ocean kept it secure." Severus shuddered. Late at night, if he shut his windows to block out the sounds of cabs, he could swear he heard loud waves breaking.

"It was the obvious place for a maximum security prison," Potter said. "Still is, actually."

"They took away every protection I had thought of. They took away my clothing and the wards they had, my wand, any spells I had cast to increase my capabilities of Occlumency, even my spare wand."

"Spare?" Potter looked up, before nearly getting swept away by the crowds of people outside Macy's. "Where'd you keep the spare?"

"Trust me, you do not want to know." Severus held onto Potter's sleeve as they crossed 6th. "They searched me, and took everything. I was more vulnerable than a Muggle, because I knew what they had taken away from me."

_Breathe. Stay calm._  Severus had never told this story to another living person. Only he knew what had happened to him in Azkaban, and despite giving Potter the story, he intended to keep it that way. He was giving Potter the facts; there was to be no emotion involved.

They ignored the grouchy doorman as they went into the lift and pressed the button for the 20th floor. There was a large group of Koreans in the lift with them, but they seemed to be too engrossed in their own conversation to listen to the one between Severus and Potter—if they even spoke English.

"There was no room, except for one cell that they didn't seem inclined to put me in. They did anyway."

"Naked?" Potter's green eyes grew wide behind his glasses.

It had been Severus' intent to give Potter facts, not details. "No; they gave me something to wear."

"What?"

"It does not matter."

"Oh."

While they were talking about details ..."It was dirty, and stained. Bodily fluids. Blood. I am not sure what happened to the last person who wore it, but I am sure it would not surprise me."

Potter grimaced. "Hey, is this our floor?"

It was. It was actually the nineteenth floor in Severus' mind; some ways of thinking never went away, even years after leaving your country.

He unlocked the door and motioned for Potter to enter. "Do not fear; I haven't got anything dead floating in jars on display."

"My worry is what's not on display," Potter muttered as he stepped inside the cramped studio. "Mummified bunnies?"

"I hate bunnies." Severus locked the door behind them. "Put up muffling spells. My one neighbour I do not even know, but there's this transvestite that lives next door. If she finds out I've company, she'll bring over a plate of biscuits and invite us over for coffee."

Potter began waving around his famous wand. "I'm just surprised you said 'bunnies' with a straight face."

Severus shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the doorknob. "My first cellmate I never learned the name of. He wanted my blanket and I wasn't eager to give it to him. I was unconscious for some time after that. Then I learned to give him my meals, whatever I had that he wanted."

Potter stopped putting up the warding. "You let someone bully you like that?"

"I told a guard as soon as it was feasible. They did not do anything until I was beaten to a pulp. Then they were kind enough to manage to move me to another cellblock." Severus grimaced. "That was my next mistake."

Potter completed the spell, and made himself at home, sitting on the futon.

"Telling the guards? But you would have died, otherwise."

"Exactly." Severus filled a glass with water, but couldn't bring himself to drink it. He wasn't sure his gag reflexes would cooperate. "My next cellmate was—well, it isn't important."

Potter's ears perked. "You aren't going to tell me his name?"

He couldn't talk with all the silence in the room—Severus cracked open a window, so that the sounds of traffic could pour through. It was a rule of thumb to never leave your windows unlocked. However, Severus did not have a fire escape on his side, and was twenty storeys high—any burglar who could manage to crawl through his window deserved whatever he wanted.

Apparently Potter interpreted Severus' silence as something else. "Dumbledore said that fear of a name—"

"—I have not spoken his name in years." Severus leaned against the wall, twiddling his thumbs to keep his hands from shaking. "If I ever spoke it at all."

Potter sat on the edge of the futon, awkwardly looking at his feet. "So, what happens if you say it? It's not like there's a trace or anything. If there is, it doesn't apply to the States. If you say it, you won't turn into a pillar of salt, or anything."

Severus forced himself to take a deep breath. "No. I do not want you to know it. He was supposed to get out of Azkaban in 2011. I don't want you running into him on the street, and trying to take him."

A small smile made its way on Potter's face. "You worried about me? Oh, Severus; I'm touched."

Severus crossed his arms, and began pacing the floor. "He was very kind at first. He allowed me to lie in bed and recover. Azkaban had no windows—there was no way to know whether it was day or night, except for the change of guards. I suppose three days went by before he took my blanket."

"Everyone wants blankets, because Azkaban is made of stone. It's cold, unless they maintain spells, like Hogwarts did. But because of all the chaos, they didn't maintain them. Or maybe they just don't bother," Potter said. "Right?"

"You impress me. Yes." Severus began chewing on his thumbnail, but caught himself. "It started with little things like that. He always took my beans and toast."

"It was clear that he had a problem. He wanted to feel important, he wanted to be in control. People with control problems should not have cell mates in prison. They have no control over so much in prison, so they over-control whatever they can." _Stop getting emotional. You've stopped giving him facts. Give him the bare bones, as you agreed to do. Make a pot of tea. Distract yourself. Distract him._

He moved for the kettle, and filled it with water.

"Why did you listen to him?" Potter followed Severus into the area used for the kitchen. "I mean, did he beat you up?"

The problem with not using magic was that water took forever to boil. "He did not have to. He did this to my leg the first time I defied him. He did that, and other things, to ensure I would never forget him, or who was in control."

Potter sat on the cramped counter, as though he was twelve years old. "Fuck. So now you have Voldemort's Mark, and what's-his-face did your leg in."

Severus chose not to show him the long jagged scar up his back, from when his father nearly broke his back as a child. "Amongst other things. Black or chamomile?"

"Chamomile makes me sleepy."

"When you are tired, do you talk more or less?" Severus wanted to know.

"Um, less, I think."

He put chamomile in Potter's cup before handing it to him. "I left my cell once a week for showers. I made a mark in my cell every week, so I could keep track of how long I had been there. At nine months, I went to trial. At twelve months, I did again. At eighteen months, they let me go."

Potter nodded. "They had a big trial for you. I always thought it was kind of funny that you weren't even there."

"Apparently it wasn't important for me to be." Severus led the way back to the futon. "I heard you used my memories to assist me."

He nodded. "I did what I could. I mean, they sentenced you to eighteen months in Azkaban, but considering what you had already served—"

They had taken him to shore, and left him in nothing but the stained, musty robes he had worn to the prison. He hadn't been given either wand back; he had been left to fend for himself, and that was just the way he liked it.

"I obtained a wand through less-than-legal means, and began the process of moving. I sold my home at Spinners End, and everything I owned. I managed to use befuddling charms on a few people, to seal up records, and get me to the States without it being obvious by looking at my records. As far as the United States are concerned, I am a legal citizen. I pay my taxes, that's really all they care about, anyhow."

"I've got to ask," Potter interrupted. "Why barbering? I mean, you could have gone into any field. Why did you pick one that was so ...unlike you?"

Because he needed to stay one step ahead of any that might pursue him. They would think to look in a chemist's shop, but never a salon. Potter seemed to understand this, but was surprised to find how Severus got his licence.

"You've never been trained to cut hair?"

"I learn quickly."

"But don't you have to take some kind of test?" Potter was aghast. "Didn't you screw up a lot of haircuts learning?"

It was haircutting, not rocket science. "I learn very quickly."

Potter smiled, before observing. "You don't have a telly."

"Never paid for my license for that, either." That was a lie; you did not need a license in the States. Severus preferred to get his news from the  _Village Voice_ —it was free. "Why? Missing an  _'Eastenders'_ marathon? You should hurry back to your hotel room, so you do not miss any more."

The smile faded, as Severus predicted it would. "We're done?"

Severus gathered up their tea cups, and placed them in the sink. "I am not sure we have more to discuss. I told you my piece, and we both already know yours. Poor Potter, he sacrifices his boyish looks in exchange for vanquishing the Dark Lord."

Potter looked to his feet. "That green light really fucking burns."

"I can only imagine. I promise you snake venom does not feel any better, if it is any consolation."

"Yeah, thanks," he mumbled.

They stood there in awkward silence.  _What does he want me to tell him? Does he want me to thank him for getting me out of Azkaban? Tell him everything will be all right? Ask him how he's doing?_ All of that seemed so trivial, and not genuine at all. Severus believed in being genuine, even if somebody's feelings got hurt by it.

"You're wrong, you know." Potter looked up.

"I'm never wrong." Severus argued.

"About the world being heartless," Potter elaborated. "It's not. The world is a good place. People are good, deep down inside. It's just that, sometimes things get all screwed up, and—"

Potter had said he wanted to know why the world was the way it was, and refused to accept Severus' explanation. It was a very annoying trait. "You find one person doing good without an ulterior motive, and I'll show you a storybook character."

It seemed Potter had already thought of a person. "Your neighbour. They wouldn't bring over biscuits if they weren't good and kind."

Damn. "She only brings them over as an excuse to vent, or gossip, or—"

"Being friendly? What a crime." Potter put his hand on the doorknob. "You just don't want to admit it."

Severus sighed. "You are fortunate to have the perspective you do. Keep it. The longer you can avoid the truth, the happier you will be."

Potter jerked open the door. "Can you help me find my hotel? I don't know where I am."

"Where is it?"

"Times Square." Potter flushed. "I wanted somewhere with a central location, and I figured I'm only ever going to be here once, and—"

He didn't need an excuse to act like a tourist; he was a tourist. "Two streets up, and to your left. There are a lot of lights; you cannot miss it."

Potter looked down at Severus' cane. "I don't suppose you want to walk me."

"This wasn't a date, Potter." Severus' tone came off harsher than intended. "You have your information. Now please, go."

Go. Such a short word could carry such heavy weight. Potter's green eyes said more than he could ever say, as he slipped from the apartment.

Severus was too emotionally exhausted, in too much pain, to even bother unfolding the futon. He didn't undress, or take a bath. He just lay down and stared up at the ceiling.

It wasn't the pain, or the discomfort of being dressed that kept him from sleeping, however. It wasn't even the memories that he constantly put in the back of his mind that kept him from sleeping. There was something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, that set him on edge.

Something was not right, and for once, it wasn't the fear that someone might find him. He had already been found; it was the fear of what was next.

* * *

He was waiting in the lobby when Potter emerged from the lift.

A leather satchel was slung over Potter's shoulder, no doubt filled to the brim with wizard space. He had his hotel keys in hand, as if to check out; he stopped when he saw Severus.

Severus nodded in acknowledgement. He wasn't going to beg the man to stay. Granted, it seemed Potter had nothing to go home to, no reason not to stay, but he wasn't going to be the one to say that.

It wasn't as if Severus was one worth staying for.

Potter hesitated, eyes moving from Severus to the hotel desk, back to Severus. "You said it wasn't a date; there didn't have to be follow-up."

Severus gripped his cane with white knuckles. "This isn't follow-up." He had not rehearsed this moment to go this way. "This is an invitation for tea."

"Tea?" Potter's eyebrows shot up.

The bakery Severus had in mind was next door. They were known for having good bread, but their tea wasn't bad, either. "It's a leaf, or a herb. You dissolve it in water, drink it with milk and sugar. Natural caffeine content, without calories. Trust me, it is delicious. You will love it."

Potter took a step forward. "Is this a date?"

"If you wish for it to be."

* * *

"I just feel like such a failure, you know?" Potter stirred his tea absent-mindedly. He still wore the sweatshirt, but kept the hood off his face, thankfully. "I was supposed to go on and do such great things. Reform the Ministry, become the face of Magical/Muggle unity. I was supposed to get married, have kids, a dog, live in one of those nice detached houses."

Severus picked at his pastry. Potter had terrible taste in pie. He would have to remember to pick out his own from now on. "You reached the climax of greatness at the age of seventeen; it was bound to happen."

Potter made a face. "Skeeter called it 'Teenage Hero, Adult Zero'."

"Skeeter is a cunt. But she was not too far off the mark." Severus took a generous sip of tea. "But is that what you want? You do not have to continue down the path you are on; you are only thirty. You have 150 years of life left. There is still plenty of time to, what was it you wanted to do? Get married, have children?" The idea was repulsive. Severus thought of having children as the epitome of narcissism; leave it to Potter to desire such a thing.

Potter crumbled up his paper cup. "I'm thirty-two. Not really. I mean, it was what I was supposed to do. It's what everyone is supposed to do."

"I didn't."

"No, you didn't." Potter looked at him, thoughtfully. "But I don't want to be like you."

Severus stretched his bad leg out, and winced. "I would not wish being like me on my worst enemy."

The corners of Potter's mouth lifted. "You mean me."

"Hardly you." They had despised each other in the past, but over petty disagreements. It seemed that had both grown from that point. "However, if you've no desire for a lady friend, there is no point in getting one. There are other things you can do to live a fruitful life, without breeding."

Potter's eyes leveled with Severus'. "I'm gay, you know."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"It doesn't?"

Severus had lain awake the previous night, that one of the many thoughts on his mind. "It takes one to know one."

Potter began to gnaw on his thumb tips. "I dropped out of the Auror programme in the first month of training. I couldn't take the pressure. The press started hounding me; I couldn't leave my house. And now with the riots, and everyone looking for me to fix them ...I just wish sometimes that I could—well, disappear." He gave Severus a sheepish smile.

"Disappearing" was not as easy as it sounded. Governments wanted to know who their citizens were, and all had their unique methods of finding it out. The American government did not have Severus' magical signature on file, but they had made him get a social security number, and a state identification card. Every move he made, they tracked.

"It takes commitment. You could never do it." Severus helped himself to a bite of his pastry.

"I'm committed!"

"Could you give up your friends? Never see Granger or a Weasley again?" Severus didn't wait for Potter's answer; he knew what it would be. "To truly disappear would be breaking at least twenty dozen laws. I chose not to go that route, because I've seen the inside of a prison, thank you very much."

"Have you noticed something since you have been in Manhattan?" Severus gestured to the people inside the cheery yellow bakery. "Not one person has approached you, asking for your autograph, or asking you to change the world. I have not noticed anyone staring at your scars. Is it because Americans are oblivious, you've only run into Muggles, or because no one has recognized you in the sea of people?"

"London is chock full of people, too," Potter protested.

"Not like here." Severus stood unsteadily, hiding a wince as a spasm shot up his leg. He gathered their rubbish in his free hand. "If you want to escape notice, leave England."

Potter looked around. "You mean, move here, with you?"

"Or to Wales. No one ever thinks to look for anyone in Wales." Severus tossed their rubbish in the bin. "Yes, move here."

"With you?"

That was not something Severus was prepared to offer. "My apartment is very small."

"I used to live in a cupboard."

"There is no space for another bed."

Potter shrugged. "I'll sleep in the bathtub."

"Don't be ridiculous; we would transfigure it into a bed before you slept there."

"Does that mean 'yes'?"

Severus glared at him. "No."

They stepped out onto the pavement. A young man tried to give Potter his CD, but Severus pulled him away before he could accept.

"Fine." Potter sighed. "I'll think about it, and find my own flat. I'll make sure it's far away from yours, so we'll never have to see each other. I'll bet you never see the same person twice here."

"It's rare." Severus had enough to think about, crossing the street with his cane. Making sure Potter crossed it safely was too much.

Potter, luckily, was getting the hang of crossing Manhattan streets, and was able to keep up. "Aren't you supposed to work today?"

Severus hadn't been sure how to call off, exactly. He used the cellular phone he used to make appointments with clients to call Rubbins. He had been surprised by her enthusiasm. She hadn't been angry at all that he had called off; she had been happy. "You have worked here for seven years, and haven't called off once. Have fun."

He had told her that he had a dentist's appointment; apparently she didn't believe him.

"What of the Weasleys? Aren't they going to be waiting for you at Heathrow, wondering where you went?"

Potter shrugged. "I never told them I left. I reckon they'd be hard-pressed to know I was coming back."

Potter had changed over the years. He was no longer a skinny, whiny, self-entitled kid. Something had changed about him. It wasn't his marred face, or the fact that he had become nothing more than a famous hermit. It was a maturity that Severus hadn't expected to ever see in him. He hadn't ever expected to see Potter to just so blindly forgive him for everything he had done, without so much as a mention.

Fifteen years ago, had you told Severus that he would be spending the day with Harry Potter, voluntarily, and enjoy it, he would have never believed you. But here he was, even taking off work for it.

Severus never did anything for fun. He woke up each morning and opened the salon. He cut hair, he styled, he set, he shampooed, he treated, and swept it all up. He took the train home, ate some take-out, and went to bed. He didn't go on walks; his leg hurt too much for that. He didn't visit tourist sights; he didn't care if the piano played when you stood on it. The limit of his excursions was a seedy shop in the Bronx where he got his pain potions from. He didn't do anything fun, to make any positive memories.

With Harry, he did it all. He ignored the pain in his leg, and suffered the loss of his dignity as he visited all the tourist traps Harry wanted to visit. He was surprised several times, when interest was expressed in going into a book store, or when Harry tactfully chose against doing "must do" things such as walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. Not because he didn't want to, but he knew Severus wouldn't enjoy it at all, given his leg.

It was remarkable, how you could get to know someone just by talking. Severus and Harry had spent six years at Hogwarts together, but had never had a real conversation. There, they had been stern teacher and insolent student; now they were equals. They were surviving members of an army, having deep things in common that they shared with few others in the world.

The roof of Severus' building was lit, but it didn't need to be. The bright lights of the city were all around them. The Empire State Building seemed to be so close, you could touch it. On the top of a twenty-five storey building, you could still hear the constant horn honking of cabs, and tourists who just had to drive their SUVs around at ten at night.

They sat on the rooftop, on the sole bench, looking over the city. A bit of a chill had come over the city; Severus wished he had worn a warmer jumper. They had spent the entire day talking together, amongst the millions of people in Manhattan, yet now he felt closer to Harry than he had the entire day.

They were finally alone.

Throughout the day, Severus had felt anxiety well up inside of him, but had pushed it out of his mind. Harry had found him, but that had taken a lot of searching. He said that he knew how to seal up records so that it would take dynamite to open them up; why couldn't Severus trust him? The odds of the prisoners who had done what they had to Severus remembering his name, and then bothering to track him down, were slim. The odds of an angry person wanting to track down one of the last surviving Death Eaters were great, but it hadn't happened yet; who was to say it would? Severus was pardoned for what he had done, after all.

Rationality didn't do anything to get rid of anxiety.

Harry looked exhausted. He had his feet elevated, no doubt not used to walking on them all day. He had his hood back over his head, but didn't try to use it to conceal his face. Though his body was limp and tired, his eyes were bright and wide, as he looked over the city and smoked a cigarette.

Severus took a deep breath. "He made me call him 'sir'."

Harry inclined his head, but didn't say anything.

"He took my food away, raped me, humiliated me. Others did in the showers. My leg was so weak, I could not fight back. He carved his name into me. He said he would always be able to find me." Severus had never spoken about that to anyone; doing so filled him with anxiety, but at the same time filled him with such a relief.

To his surprise, Harry didn't seem surprised by this news. "He's a sick fuck."

"I was an ex-Death Eater. The Dark Mark was a target for people to victimize me." Severus let out a shaky breath. "I was weak. I let them."

Weakness was a terrible thing to have, to show. Going into prison, he had been beaten and injured, creating a weakness. He had been mentally abused, which created yet another weakness. Coming out of prison, he had terrible attacks of anxiety and paranoia. He had moved to a foreign country—a weakness—and begun a career he knew nothing about—a weakness—in a profession where the majority were women—a weakness. He wasn't a weak person, he didn't think, but he felt like everything he did, from joining the Death Eaters, to running away to the States, was weak.

"I don't think you're weak." Harry blew smoke rings.

"You're just saying that."

"Am not. What's-his-face has spent god knows how long in prison, and only just got out—that we know, anyway. He's hardly successful. You've defied all the odds, and here you are on top of the world." Harry peered at the low edge of the building. "Or at least on top of the building."

Severus wasn't here to get his ego inflated. "I do unhealthy things. I work too many hours, I do not socialise."

"I don't work, and don't socialise. That's not healthy, either." Harry shrugged, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray. He stood up and moved to the ledge. "Come here."

Severus hesitated. Harry hadn't come all the way to the States to hurt, humiliate, or kill Severus. He had no intentions of making him lose his job, lease, or dignity. He wasn't a threat to him.

He could be trusted.

He moved over to Harry, and looked down.

Hundreds of dizzying feet down were cabs. Though foot traffic in midtown Manhattan slowed to nearly a standstill in the wee hours of the morning, it was still heavy at ten at night. The bright lights illuminating the Macy's sign were on; the owls on the clock across the street blinked Avada Kedavra green; it was a bit too eerie for Severus to focus on. Owls were a part of his past life.

"You've had a lot of shit happen to you," Harry quietly said, gazing down with him. "So have I. I've killed Voldemort, and now I've got nothing to live for. You manipulated both sides until one defeated the other, and now you're more or less in the same position."

Harry took a step up, so that he stood on the very edge of the building.

Severus felt the muscles in his neck seize up, as they always did when there was a risk of someone falling to their death. He was sure that it was a built-in function most humans had, to remind them that if they fell, their neck would break or worse.

"I mean, life sucks, then you die, right? We're wizards, which means we have an even longer lifespan to suffer. We've got another 150 years left; you said so earlier."

He had meant that as a positive thing. Had he known Harry would take it to mean what Severus thought he took it to mean, he never would have mentioned it.

"Fuck. One-hundred-fifty years," Harry muttered, looking back down at the pavement. "That's too long. Hey, I've got an idea." He held his arms out at a ninety-degree angle, and reached for Severus' hand. "Let's jump."

"You idiot!" Severus reached out and pulled Harry back off the ledge. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Harry's glasses had slid down his nose in the sudden movement. For the first time, Severus was able to see how he looked without them, with the burns covering the right side of his face. "You're right. What happens if we jump, and land on somebody? They'd be enough cushion for us to not die, but get paralysed or something. Then we wouldn't be able to walk, we'd get in trouble for murder ...and we still wouldn't be dead."

Severus pushed Harry to his feet. "You're not funny, Potter."

"I'm serious." Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose. "The way I see it, we're going to suffer alone the rest of our lives."

Harry was stupider than Severus had ever dreamed he was. "And you think jumping is the solution?"

"It's a solution, but not the better one. Misery loves company, you know?" Harry stepped back up onto the ledge. "So we can either jump together, or suffer the next 150 years of our lives together. Your choice." He offered a hand to Severus.

Batshit insane. That was what Harry was. Absolutely insane. "I am not sure that is what that saying means." Severus spoke slowly. "Is this your way of telling me you want to die, or that you want to get into my pants?"

A smile spread over Harry's mouth. "You think I'm hitting on you?"

Severus reached for Harry's hand, and clasped it firmly. He used the link to guide Harry carefully off the ledge once again. "It is demented, and wouldn't work on anybody else; I do not recommend using that line on any bloke you meet in a pub."

He let go of his hand, but Harry closed the gap between them. "But it worked on you?" His breath tickled Severus' ear.

Severus steadied himself, knuckles white around the cane. He had not been so physically close to someone in quite some time. "You are the most transparent person I know, and a Gryffindor; subtlety is not one of your strong suits. You should never try it again."

Harry chuckled. "Should I assume there was a compliment somewhere in there?"

"Absolutely."

He leaned down, and met Harry's lips. The Killing Curse had left Harry's upper lip rough. Harry's five o'clock shadow scratched his chin.

Harry wrapped his arms around Severus' neck and pulled him closer to him.

Severus tried to bring his hand to the back of Harry's head, but found that he was too unsteady, with that much weight now being put on the cane; he let out an involuntary groan.

Harry pulled away. "Okay, I'm not the most experienced guy in New York, but that wasn't a groan of pleasure, was it?"

From thousands of miles away, from something he had done years ago, "Sir" still managed to fuck everything up. "Sorry," Severus said, trying to restrain another gasp of pain as he stopped putting weight on that leg. "It wasn't you—it was that blasted—"

It didn't seem to faze Harry. He placed his hand over the one Severus gripped the cane with. "Would it be less painful for you somewhere else?"

Somewhere else? Why yes, it would be; his leg rarely hurt much at all while lying down.

* * *

Severus blindly searched for the light switch, and found that he needed to gasp for breath. "Go unfold the bed," he directed Harry, pushing him off of him. "It isn't difficult; just move the—"

"I've grown more competent over the years; I think I can manage." Harry cheekily smiled. His lips were swollen; it was a good look for him.

Severus moved into the loo, deliberately avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror. He opened the medicine cabinet and found what he was looking for. He had only purchased two bottles of personal lubricant since moving to the States; this one was unopened, and he took a moment to break the seal, and grab several rubbers, before moving into the main room.

Harry had had success in unfolding the futon into a bed. Pillows were strewn all over the floor. He had turned on the floor lamp in lieu of the bright lights, removed his glasses, and was waiting to greet Severus as he made his return.

Severus pulled away from the kiss and sat down on the bed. The cane fell to the floor with a clatter. Now, both hands free, he began unbuttoning Harry's shirt, starting from the bottom.

Harry shrugged out of the shirt. He pushed Severus down onto the bed, kissing as they went. "Better?" he breathed.

The leg was screaming bloody murder, after a long day spent walking. There was nothing like distraction from the pain when kissing Harry, though. "Much." Severus scooted himself to the middle of the bed and started on Harry's trousers.

As his lips wandered over Harry's naked body, it wasn't lost on Severus on how different their lives had been fifteen years ago. Fifteen years ago, they were still teacher and student. What they were doing now would have not only been unlikely on both their parts, it would have been illegal, if not unethical.

A lot could change with time.

Harry arched his neck and reached for Severus' neck. "More," he managed to say before his lips were smothered by Severus' own. He was not yet done, though. He made special care to kiss the skin that Harry was so ashamed of, the mutilated skin that had encouraged him to go into hiding for so long. His lips first embraced the wrinkled skin where the right brow once was, before moving to the right corner of said eye. The right side of the nose, which Severus knew to be reconstructed. He moved to the inner ear lobe, before returning with gusto to Harry's lips.

Harry wrapped his arms around Severus' neck and pulled him closer. "I want to touch you."

Touch him? In the sexual relationships he had over the years, they had been just that: sexual. Men hadn't had a great need to run their hands up and down Severus' body, or explore it. Whenever they had, they either quickly broke off the relationship, or Severus did.

It wasn't easy to explain the meaning of some the things on his body. It had been easier to just break it off.

But Harry ...Harry already knew. He knew what the ugly faded tattoo of a skull and snake was. He didn't care. It wasn't an area he was likely to caress with his lips, but it wasn't something that would stop him at this point. He already knew that something else was carved onto Severus' body. He didn't know how it had been exactly, where it was, or what it was, but Harry's perception abilities had surprised Severus the past forty-eight hours. It wouldn't surprise Severus to find that Harry already had some ideas of where and what said "mark" was.

Harry sat up and pulled Severus' shirt off. He threw it to the floor, to somewhere, and moved Severus to his back. "Relax; you're so tense." He placed his warm hands over Severus' biceps.

He forced himself to take deep breaths. He cares. He's not here just for fullfilment, or just because he can; he's doing this because he cares. You both want it. You can stop him at any time. "I am not tense," he tried.

"Liar." Harry kissed him. "Tell me if you want me to stop. Say 'snitch'."

"Over my dead body."

Harry pulled Severus' boots off and began unbuckling his belt. "'Quaffle' sounds too much like a moan, or a—"

Men could grow taller, move out on their own, and even mature, but apparently some never stopped using poor Quidditch analogies. "I think in our case, 'stop' would be just as effective."

At least Harry had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry." He placed another kiss on Severus, before moving to place a kisses on the trail of hair on Severus' abdomen.

Severus gripped the covers. He forced himself to breathe, to remain calm. He tried to keep his leg still, but it kept twitching.

If Harry noticed, which he had to have, he didn't say anything. He positioned himself over Severus' good leg, and seemed to be in a position to ignore that the other was even there. Cautiously, he looked up. "Do you care if I—"

"You talk too much during sex, Potter."

A grin briefly crossed Harry's mouth, before he exchanged it for the tip of Severus' cock.

Severus arched his back, as Harry's tongue began to tease the underside of his penis. When Harry had made comments about being inexperienced, he had to have been lying. One thing beginner's luck did not apply to was sex; virginal, inexperienced people were not able to make someone react as Harry was making Severus' body react.

Slowly, deliberately, Harry began to lower his mouth onto Severus. He would move down an inch, and retract, making it a long, torturous game he seemed to be enjoying.

"Fuck, Harry." Severus clenched his teeth.

"Patience," he teased.

One thing Severus had learned to do in his past circumstances was to come quickly. Contrariwise, he was able to last quite a bit of time. He could make this last so long that soon Harry would be ready to give in. Two could play that game, if that was the way it needed to be played.

Fortunately for Severus, however, it seemed Harry was done teasing him. He swallowed his cock, and mental images of Dumbledore in a g-string wouldn't have been able to keep Severus from coming.

"Christ, Potter!" Severus gripped the sheets even tighter.

Harry's face emerged from Severus' body, as he moved to Severus' face, kissing him gently. "You okay?"

No one Severus had ever been with knew about his history in Azkaban. No one had noticed his being tense during intercourse, and if they had, they had never said anything. Here, Harry was treating him like a delicate flower; Severus wasn't sure he liked it, but it was nice that he cared enough to go slowly, to be cautious of Severus' emotional state.

"If you don't fucking summon the lubricant, I'm going to—"

Harry outstretched his arm to the table, where Severus had set the lubricant, but instead of wandlessly summoning it as Severus had directed, hopped up and got it himself. "You haven't been using magic in this flat for fifteen years; I'm not about to make it a habit if you don't want it to be."

He was going to correct Harry on how he had only lived in this building for seven, but Harry's fingers found his way to his arse.

"Relax," Harry murmured, changing his tone entirely. "It goes in much easier if you're relaxed. That's the point."

Severus forced his muscles to unclench. He closed his eyes as Harry's slippery index finger found its way up his arse, and tried to enjoy the process. He took deep breaths, and tried to clear his mind of any negative imagery, of any memories that might ruin this experience for him.

Tonight, on a breezy October in 2012, he was with Harry Potter, alone, in his apartment. He was safe, and cared for; they were making a memory they would hopefully each look back on with fondness. Severus refused to let either of their nightmarish histories fuck it up.

Harry took Severus' good leg and put it over his shoulder. "Will it hurt you if I move this one?" He gestured to Severus' poor leg.

He nodded. "Yes."

"Then how do you want me to—"

"It's going to hurt regardless. Put it up with the other one; if I scream, put it down."

Harry did not seem comforted by that statement, but he did what Severus told him to do. He gingerly coaxed Severus' leg onto his other shoulder.

Severus winced, and hissed through his teeth as he moved his leg onto the shoulder. It hurt like a son of a bitch to elevate, especially in that awkward position. Tears came to his eyes, but he brushed them away before Harry could see.

He saw. "You okay? Is it that pain, or—"

Now that he wasn't moving the leg so much, it was fine. "It was the pain, Potter. I'm fine."

Hesitantly, Harry nodded. He positioned himself at Severus' entrance, and with Severus' quick nod of consent, thrust himself fully into him.

Severus grunted, falling back against the back of the bed. Though a cautious and hesitant lover, Harry turned out to be quite adept at it. Severus had never given any thought to it, but he supposed it made sense that Harry would be a generous lover. Though he had been very cocky in his teen years, with an inflated ego, he had also been very selfless. It seemed the ego had dissipated, but thankfully the generosity remained.

Severus grasped blindly for something, anything, to grip as Harry pounded himself against Severus' prostate. Severus breathed heavily; a low moan escaped him.

With a shout, Potter fell back, Severus' limp legs coming crashing down to the bed. It took a moment for him to recover, but he came crawling over to Severus, drenched in sweat.

Severus kissed Harry, moving his sweaty hair out of his eyes. Harry was still catching his breath, but words didn't need to be exchanged. Severus had a feeling they were both thinking the same thing.

"Fuck." Harry moaned finally, burrowing into Severus and placing a kiss on his throat. "You're incredible."

_And you live 3,000 miles away._  Though Severus wasn't one to commit to a relationship after one day together, it would be ignorant to ignore the obvious; they were fantastic together.

Drowsiness began to overtake Severus, but he fought it. He pulled the covers over Harry and himself, ignoring any sticky mess that might be on the sheets.

"Mmm." Harry snuggled up against his chest. He opened his eyes. "You okay?"

"Stop asking that."

"Okay. But are you?"

Whenever Harry said that, it reminded Severus of why he shouldn't be. It was very counter-productive. "If I am not, you will be the first to know."

"You didn't answer me." Harry propped himself up on one arm.

Severus was reminded of just how much the man could annoy him. "Yes, I am very well."

Harry settled back down against Severus' chest. He seemed content with that answer. He seemed to trust that it was true.

And it was. It was true. He was okay. He was fine. He had grown to trust adult Harry over the course of a day, whereas he had spent weeks with men that he could never come to trust. Trust, for Severus, meant knowing that they knew him fully. Trust meant no fear of rejection.

* * *

Poke. Poke. Poke. "Severus, you awake?"

Harry was poking him, as a child might poke his napping parent. Severus opened his eyes and tried to clear the fog out of his head. The horns were not being honked frequently at all, and the room was still dim. The only thing he could think of was nausea, and how he had to get the covers off his body. "If I wasn't, I am now."

He expected a dumb question, such as, "May I use the loo?" or, "Can I have something to eat?" but Harry wanted to know nothing of the sort. "I wasn't going to wake you up, but your leg keeps, I dunno, twitching. Every now and then it'll just jerk. I didn't know if you took tablets for it or anything, but—"

Severus sat up and pulled the covers off their naked bodies. His leg was indeed jerking noticeably, and the severe pain it was in was no doubt causing the nausea Severus was feeling.

He winced as he forced his leg to stretch out and stay as still as possible. "Get me a vial. Small cupboard above the refrigerator. Translucent green."

Harry got to his feet and hurried over to the cupboard. He brought back the correct vial. "Looks a little like puke green."

"Puke" was one four-letter word Severus didn't need to hear at the moment. He downed the vial in one gulp.

Awkwardly, Harry got back into bed. "Sorry for waking you. I debated on whether I should or not, but I figured the worst you could do was bite off my head."

Severus grimaced, and tried to smile through the pain; he had a feeling it came off very false. "I would have been too miserable to go to work in the morning had I managed to sleep through all that pain." He got to the edge of the bed and searched for the cane; Harry produced it from the other side of the bed.

"Oh, right. I guess you have to work." Harry sounded disappointed.

It took a few tries before Severus could stand, and even then the pain tore through his leg so that he almost collapsed back down. He forced himself to move, so that he could get to the loo; he still had a bit of dignity in him. "I do. This room does not pay for itself. I hope you left a note in your flat, so that your friends do not find you missing and panic." It was not lost on Severus that Harry might choose to go home later that day.

Harry didn't answer. That was odd, so Severus stopped, and turned around. "What is it?"

Harry was staring, but he blinked, flushing. "Oh, sorry. Yeah, I left a note, so if Hermione stops by on her way home from ..." his voice trailed. "So what exactly is that?"

Severus felt his stomach tie in knots. The nausea he already felt from the pain doubled, and it was only his trained gag reflexes that stopped him from needing to get to the toilet for another reason entirely. "That is where—"

"Oh, I figured it was either that or—." Harry started out of the bed. "Mind if I take a look?"

_Calm. Calm. Breathe._ It was easier said than done. "Mind if I use the loo, first?"

"Oh, right. Sure, go ahead."

Once the loo door was securely locked, Severus stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was sticking out at all angles, starting to form a knot in the back of his head. He had bags under his eyes, no doubt from all the worrying and exertion from the previous day. His left thigh felt sticky still; he wondered what time it was.

_You got lucky last night; he never saw it. He never had an opportunity to. But it's not a big deal. Just go out there and face him; if he doesn't like it, he lives 3,000 miles away. You will never have to see him again._

Except you talked him into possibly running away from his problems. Watch him move to the city. Watch him move to a building three blocks down, just because he is like that.

Severus took longer than he needed to in the loo, and only came out when he realised what a ridiculous habit that was of his. He stood up straight and, with about as much dignity as a nude man with a cane could muster, stepped back into room.

Harry was waiting where Severus had left him. He watched as Severus slowly hobbled back over to the bed and carefully lay down on his stomach.

His eyes, to Severus' surprise, did not go straight to the buttock where the damage was done. He instead lifted Severus' hair out of his eyes. "Your leg seems like it really hurts. Do you need to see a doctor or something? Does it always do that, or did you do too much walking yesterday?" Concern spilled out of his green eyes.

Severus grunted. "It always hurts this badly if I do not take the potions. A long soak in the tub will help. I am on my feet all day at work, remember?"

Harry nodded, and returned his attention to the raised marks on Severus' skin. He traced the lines gently, and squinted. "I don't have my glasses on; what's it say?"

"Nothing any more. The scars have faded so much over the years that only the worst of it is raised and still visible. Still, I know what it is, and any man I am ever with will want to know, also. I have a feeling they will not be as compassionate as you are about it."

Harry frowned. "I'd have to put my glasses on, but you could probably correct this with a potion, or even surgery. What'd he do this with, a razor?"

"A shard of glass."

A wince. "And you just lay there and let him?"

Severus pulled the covers over his body. "If you are going to criticise me, then you can—"

"—no! I was just saying, it takes someone with a lot of strength and willpower to lie there while someone carves a name onto their arse." Harry crawled under the blankets next to Severus. "I'm not criticising you."

"You are."

"Am not. I love you."

Severus' breath caught in his throat. They were moving too quickly. Love? That was another four-letter word he was not prepared to hear. "What?"

Harry cleared his throat, possibly sensing he might have made a faux pas. "I-I love you."

Severus stared at him. "You do not mean that."

"I do." Harry protested. "I mean, I had to care about you enough to come over here in the first place. I didn't come just to solve my problems, you know. I figured you had some too, and you sure as hell didn't have anyone to talk to about them."

"You just assume I've no one to talk to."

"Am I wrong? I wasn't." Harry reached out and pushed Severus' hair out of his eyes. "I'm not asking for you to say you love me back. Whether you do or don't, you've shown your feelings in how you've let me in your flat, walked around for hours when you're in pain, fallen asleep with me beside you, showed me your scars, and this." Harry gestured to the bed. "You know, I haven't been able to sleep. I've been thinking."

Severus swallowed hard. Whenever Harry thought, the rest of the world shook in terror. "About?"

"If I left, and started work on a visa, and immigration, would you ignore me when I got back to the city? Would you be there for me, even if just as a friend? I know you might not want to be with me, and that's okay, because I know I'm not boyfriend material, but even if you just could help me find a flat, or—"

"—you have a babbling problem. I am going to help you fix that first."  _By cutting out your god damn tongue._ "Who said that you are not 'boyfriend material'?"

Harry looked down and muttered something unintelligible.

"Mr. Potter, I am over fifty years old. If you think I am looking for a 'boyfriend', you are highly mistaken. However," Severus let this word sink in, "if you wish to come back to the city, you are welcome to get your own flat, or move in here. You are welcome as a friend, or as a partner. Regardless, I will be waiting at the airport for you."

Harry looked up. "Really?"

"You stupid goat, do you really think I would let you try to find your way back to midtown yourself? I'm not sure how you managed to live in London alone all these years. I saw you try to navigate the subway lines."

A smirk. "There's another reason I don't like to leave my flat, much."

* * *

Severus crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall, trying to act calm as he watched baggage come through baggage claim. It never failed to amaze him, the different types of people that came through the airport. At the moment, a remarkable lot of them spoke with accents native to England and India—it meant Harry couldn't be that far behind them.

Eight months had gone by since they had seen each other last. Harry had insisted on going through immigration the Muggle way, though he didn't need to. He had claimed he was doing it for for Severus, which Severus silently appreciated. There were few wizards who would accept another's disuse of magic, and respect it.

Another thing they had done the Muggle way was correspond. Severus refused to adopt computers, or use his phone beyond work. Harry had an owl, but not a breed that was accustomed to making transatlantic trips. Severus' apartment was not set up for a Floo connection, and even if it were, the international charges would have sent his knees buckling.

Gingerly, Severus took a step forward. The pain was still significant enough for him to take notice, but no longer did it send spasms up his leg. Harry had mailed him a different, more expensive, potion to help with the pain. He hadn't taken "No" for an answer.

_Harry,_

_I do not need you to buy expensive medication for me. I have been taking this particular brew for a great deal of time, and it is what I am accustomed to. I acknowledge your thoughtfulness, but please stop sending me the vials. You will send people at customs into a panic._

_Severus_

_Severus,_

_Take it. There isn't any reason to be in pain if you don't have to be. A therapist would tell you that there's no reason to punish yourself for something you feel guilty over in the past._

_Fuck the people at customs._

_Love,_  
 _Harry_

_Harry,_

_I will not be taking that potion._

_Severus_

_Severus,_

_Don't think of me as a Potter. Don't think of me as your partner. Think of me as your mother: Severus, take your potions!_

_Love,_  
 _Harry_

_Harry,_

_I hardly needed that visual._

_Severus_

"Severus!" Harry walked into the room, lugging a small rolling suitcase behind him. Despite his red eyes, his exhaustion from the long flight, he wore his cheekiest grin as he hurried to Severus and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

He felt his breath catch. For so long, he had avoided physical touch, had avoided relationships on any emotional level. So many times in the past eight months, he had tried to talk himself out of what he felt for Harry, sure that he was setting himself up for disappointment and rejection.

It took only one hug from Harry to realize how ridiculous that way of thinking was.

Harry pulled away, and placed a quick kiss on Severus' lips, mindful of how they both felt about public displays. "You look good."

Of course he would bring that up first thing. His jaw tightened. "Yes, the potion is working. Note that this is not me admitting you were right, about anything."

"Not that." Harry looped his arm around Severus' once they cleared the airport's revolving doors. "It's your eyes. You look healthier, happier."

If that was so, it was because of the relief Severus felt from the spasms up his leg. It was also because his life no longer felt so empty, though he was not going to tell Harry that. Not yet.

They had agreed to splurge on a cab for the return trip from the airport, so that they could get directly home. As Severus took Harry's suitcase from him, he grunted. "What've you got in here?"

Harry teased, "Condoms."

"Is that all?" Severus drawled. "Have you considered using wizard space? Featherlight charms?"

Harry pulled Severus closer to him, and gave him a long kiss, before whispering in his ear, "Maybe I did."

**-The End-**


End file.
